Mixed Blessings
Fandom: Star Trek (AOS/TOS). Pairing: Reader x Spock. Prompt: Anon requested - Hello, I want to request a fic where the reader is in a (new) relationship with Bones or Spock (your choice). No one knows she should be on long-term meds to prevent migraine attacks. She asks Spock to teach her Vulcan mediation techniques to battle the attacks (but doesn’t tell him why). It doesn’t go well. Bones keeps her in med bay / on bed rest in her quarters (maybe Spock can help with the treatment?). They kinda police her med intake until she’s more comfortable having to take them. THX! Word Count: 3702. Warnings: None. Rating: All ages. Author’s Note: To the lovely Anon I had the pleasure of chatting with the other day who felt like Spock wasn’t getting enough love – I hope this is good! It was that conversation that swayed me towards writing Spock for this one instead of Bones, and I hope I’ve done him justice!
Mixed Blessings You sit curled up against Spock’s side, enjoying the slight chill he’s giving off as the beginnings of what you’re sure is going to be a terrible migraine throb behind your eyes. Your neck feels tight, the lights too bright, and the nearly-inaudible background hum of the warp core far too loud as your stomach turns: the auras are old news to you by now, you’ve been suffering from migraines since the age of fourteen, and lately they’ve been intensifying and coming nearly daily. “Hey Spock?” You say softly, your own voice echoing in your head and egging the headache on. “Yes, ashayam?” He asks, making your lips curl into a small smile at the term of endearment. “I was wondering, can you teach me to meditate?” You murmur. He pauses momentarily as though considering what possible motivations you might have to want to learn the art of Vulcan meditation. “Of course,” he replies. “Is there any particular reason why you would like to learn?” You shake your head, feeling the pain throb and reach out further, taking over you. It’s all you can do to keep from throwing up on the spot as black spots dance in your vision. “No,” you say in what you hope is a light and conversational tone. “It might just be nice to be able to turn my mind off for a while sometimes. Maybe it’ll help me worry less and detach myself from my work a bit.”
The Vulcan makes a noncommittal noise. Sitting up and moving away from him, you wrack your brain for some kind of an excuse to make a hasty retreat to your quarters: you need to lie down before the pain gets really bad. “Excuse me,” you mumble. “I’ve just realized there’s something I need to attend to. I’ll see you later, Spock. Maybe I can stop by your quarters this evening and we can start on those lessons?” He inclines his head, and you know that he’s pleased even though his expression hasn’t changed. “I look forward to it,” he replies. You wave over your shoulder as you make your way out of the rec room and head for your quarters. The walk feels like it takes an hour and you know by the time you reach your door that you’re weaving, but thankfully you’ve not run across anybody. Punching in your access code, you stumble inside and make your way directly to the bathroom. After dry heaving for several minutes, the intensity of your headache increasing further, you make your way out into the bedroom, turn the lights out, and hit the bed. Whether you fall asleep or pass out makes no difference, as long as the pain is gone when you wake up. And, blissfully, it is. You groan as consciousness comes back to you some time later. Shifting around in bed, you realize you’ve been asleep for nearly three hours and your mouth is dry. Ordering the lights to fifty percent, you gingerly get to your feet, stretch a little, and make your way to the kitchenette. Your head still aches, but it’s a dull sort of pain compared to the knifing agony from earlier and it’s nothing you can’t handle. Filling a glass with water, you sip it slowly, hoping to quell the echo of nausea that’s still sitting in the pit of your stomach. Once you’ve drained it, you make sure you look presentable and venture out of your quarters again, heading out to find Spock. His quarters are two floors above yours, with the other officers’ quarters, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You knock on your boyfriend’s door and he answers it within moments, stepping aside to let you in before closing the door in your wake. His quarters are neat and orderly and strangely welcoming. The lights are low and there are two mats laid out on the floor near the coffee table. “Please, have a seat, Y/N,” he says crisply, gesturing to one of the mats. “I find that a cross-legged position with one’s hands resting upturned on one’s knees is the most comfortable, but it hardly matters how you sit as long as you are able to stay in that position for the duration of your meditation.” You nod and arrange yourself on one of the mats. You choose to sit just as Spock had indicated and you glance up at him for approval. He kneels at your side, splaying a palm at your lower back, encouraging you to sit up as straight as you can. It’s a little less comfortable than the slouch you’d been in moments ago, but you can handle it and you nod, watching as Spock takes his place, mirroring your position a short distance away in front of you. “Meditation is a practice not of thoughtlessness, as many would believe, but one of mindfulness,” he begins. “To start your training, I will lead you in a guided meditation. Close your eyes, ashayam, and listen to my voice.” You consider what he’s said as you let your eyelids drop, and you listen to him as he begins to talk you through a storm, violent and powerful. As you envision the calming of the wind and rain, you come to realize they are meant to represent the stress that you’d mentioned earlier upon asking him to help teach you. You switch tracks in your mind, replacing the stress in the metaphor with the pain you feel on a daily basis and you try to ingrain it all in your memory for use when you need it. Your first lesson goes well, and you try it out the next time you start getting a headache to no avail. Figuring you’re just not trying hard enough or unable to focus properly just yet, you continue your lessons with Spock. He’s patient with you and praises your efforts even though you know you must be operating at a three-year-old-Vulcan level to him. A few more lessons pass you by and your headaches, if anything, are getting worse. One night, a couple of weeks later, one hits as you’re actively meditating with Spock and you break rank, cradling your head in your hands as darkness tugs at the edges of your vision. Spock is at your side in an instant. “What is it, ashayam?” He asks, and you can sense the concern in his tone though you know his voice is as impassive as ever. You have to lie down. You’re not sure that he’s heard you, or even that you’ve gotten the words out, but you attempt to stand up with his strong grip on your upper arms. You try to focus on his lips – he’s talking but you can’t hear him over the roaring of your own heartbeat in your ears – but it’s impossible as your vision begins to gray out the closer you get to standing. The last thing you feel as your vision blacks out entirely are Spock’s arms around you, catching you and holding you close. Your consciousness is gone, but with it so, too, is the pain. You awaken several hours later to a cacophony of sounds all around you and two hushed voices at your side. There’s a hand clasping one of yours and another suddenly lands on your shoulder, startling you. You open your eyes and groan as you’re assaulted by lights – not overhead, mercifully, but further out in what you now realize is the med bay. Blinking, you clear your vision and look up into the concerned face of Dr. McCoy, the ship’s CMO. “Welcome back, Lieutenant,” he says softly. “You gave Spock quite the scare, fainting in his arms.” “Concern, doctor,” Spock corrects him. “Fear would not have been conducive to appropriate action. Concern can be felt without impairing one’s ability to operate objectively.” You giggle tiredly as you see the doctor roll his eyes as he begins to scan and examine you. You endure the light he shines in your eyes, the questions about how you’re feeling and how you felt before you passed out, squeezing his hands to test your grip strength. What you wish you could skip out on is the confrontation that follows. “How often have you been having migraines lately?” Dr. McCoy asks. You sigh and run a shaky hand through your hair. For the first time in weeks you feel absolutely no trace of a headache – undoubtedly due to whatever drugs the doctor has given you – and you don’t want to tempt fate by talking about your migraines of late. “Almost every day,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “Ashayam, why would you keep that from us?” Spock interjects. You shake your head weakly. “I’ve had them since I was fourteen,” you reply. “Sometimes they flare up like this.” “And yet there’s nothing in your file about you being seen for headaches in the last couple of years,” the doctor presses. “When did the medication stop being effective?” You swallow thickly at the question, feeling your heart sink. “I haven’t been taking it,” you say almost inaudibly. The doctor grumbles wordlessly and Spock’s grip on your hand tightens. “Why not?” Spock asks gently. “Was the medication insufficient to help the pain? Were you experiencing side effects?” “You keep this up, Spock, and I’m going to be out of a job soon,” Dr. McCoy says dryly before turning his attention back to you. “What’s going on, Y/N? I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” “The meds were working okay,” you explain. “I just… I don’t like the idea of being on any medications. My grandmother was really sick for a few years before she died. They put her on all sorts of medications and they only seemed to make her worse. I was afraid of something like that happening to me, so I stopped taking them…” The doctor’s expression softens a bit and he shakes his head. “You should have come to me,” he says gently. “We could have talked about it. I’m happy to answer any questions you have and to make sure you understand everything. We can make this work for you.” Spock, who has been brooding at your side, interrupts your conversation. “Is this perhaps why you were interested in learning to meditate?” He queries. You nod. “I thought maybe I could handle the headaches some other way,” you reply. “I’ve heard that a lot of pain is psychological, and I thought maybe I could trick my brain into easing up on the headaches if I could just concentrated hard enough or in the right way.” “While I find your approach admirable, meditation is not a substitute for medical attention,” Spock admonishes you softly. “No, but it can be a powerful adjunct,” Dr. McCoy reasons. “Y/N, I want you to take a few days off of work. I’m going to discharge you to your quarters, but I’d like to check on you twice a day to ensure your headaches are being controlled. I want to put you back on your medication, but I’d also like for you to continue your lessons with Mr. Spock. The meditation will help you relieve stress, which will help alleviate the headaches and allow the medication to work better. I know you aren’t keen on the idea of long-term drug therapy, but I’d like you to hear me out. Before I let you go, I’d like to explain the treatment to you: the long-term prognosis, your options, and anything else you’re curious about. I want us to be able to work as a team to manage your health, alright?” You tighten your grip on Spock’s hand anxiously but you nod, letting out a shaky breath. Your compliance earns you a smile from the doctor and an uncharacteristically sentimental squeeze back from your lover. Everything happens in a flash after that. The doctor disappears for a few moments and reappears with a bottle of pills in hand. He goes through the dosing schedule, the potential side effects, the pharmacokinetics, the long-term outlook, and answers each and every one of your questions readily. It’s his being quick to answer that reassures you the most – you know he’s knowledgeable and experienced with the drug and with its use in patients like yourself, and that helps to ease your mind a little about being on the meds. You’re discharged to your quarters shortly following the discussion on the condition that Spock stays with you to monitor you for the rest of the day and that you’re alright with Dr. McCoy coming by to check on you periodically. You agree easily and soon enough, Spock is walking you to your quarters, his arm around your waist to steady you as he guides you. Though the two of you have been together for a few weeks, you’re still surprised by the gentleness and care with which he tucks you into bed when you arrive in your quarters. You’re not feeling sleepy and so he props a number of pillows under your back so you’re halfway seated and sits at your side, taking your hand in his again. You meet his gaze and you know he’s feeling some measure of worry for you, though an eye less trained than yours would never know it. “You should have told me you wanted to learn meditation to help with your pain,” Spock says plainly. “I would have opted for a different visualization, one that may have been more useful to you.” You smile softly at him, giving his hand a grateful squeeze. “Maybe we can try again?” You ask. “You heard the doctor – the meditation might help with my treatment. I’m open to anything that means I might be able to rely less on the drugs.” And so you do. This time, as you relax against your pillows, Spock guides you through a new visualization – one of the ocean, waves crashing over you and taking a sliver of your pain away with each recession. While you’re not in pain at the moment, it is helping to relax you a bit anyway and you feel yourself breathing easier; even the muscles in your chest are loosening up as you concentrate on Spock’s soft voice. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been meditating when you hear a knock on the door to your quarters, but you miss Spock’s presence as soon as he’s gone. He comes back in a moment with Dr. McCoy at his side and stands a short distance away to give the CMO some room to work beside you. The doctor takes a seat and makes quick work of running his tricorder over your head and neck, appearing satisfied with the readings. “Any pain, Y/N?” He asks, glancing up at you as he sets the instrument away. You shake your head, watching the doctor as he brings his hands up and rests his fingertips on your neck, gently prodding at the muscles there and in your shoulders, making you hiss as he elicits some tenderness. “No auras?” He continues questioning as his fingers press into more of your muscles, making you groan softly. “No,” you answer, shifting and shrugging your shoulders to shake them out a bit as he finishes his exam. He makes a noncommittal noise and glances between you and Spock as you watch him, waiting for his verdict. “You’re very tense,” he explains. “I could give you a shot of a muscle relaxant, but seeing as you’re not keen on the idea of medication, I think a massage would be the better way to go. We have a therapist in the med bay, but short of something so formal, I’m sure a good, old fashioned shoulder rub from your friendly neighborhood Vulcan would work just as well and then you don’t even need to leave your quarters.” Your gaze flickers over to Spock, who inclines his head in polite agreement. You’d been unsure whether he would agree to something so potentially intimate when Dr. McCoy had suggested it, but now that he’s agreed you find yourself relaxing. You turn your attention back to the CMO, urging him wordlessly to continue. “I think that with some rest and a regular med routine, the meditation and massage should help to keep you headache-free,” the doctor concludes. “I want you to come by and see me regularly for a couple of weeks so we can make sure you’re on track, but after that as long as the treatment holds, you should be fine to get back to a normal routine.” “Will I be on the medication forever?” You ask lightly. “We’ll see,” the doctor replies. “Migraines often change over time, sometimes they go away all together. After you’ve been stable for a while, we can try to wean you off of the medication to see if the headaches come back. If they do, we’ll treat you again and try it again another time. If they don’t, we’ll go from there.” You nod, satisfied, and smile. This time, the upturning of your lips is much easier and more genuine, and you hold out a hand to shake the doctor’s. “Thank you,” you say gratefully. “This is still a lot for me, but I think I’ll be okay.” “You’re going to be just fine, darlin’,” the doctor assures you with a glance up at Spock. “I may be questioning your choices for a support network a little bit, but between myself and Mr. Spock, I think you’ll do great.” You chuckle and nod, watching the doctor take his leave after he’s reminded you to call on him any time you need. Spock inclines his head in thanks, too, and immediately takes up the CMO’s place on the bed. Over the next several days, he’s incredibly kind, gentle, and thoughtful with you. It may not appear so to an observer, but you can feel the humanity in his touches as he massages your shoulders, easing the tension and the aches there. You know how incredibly intimate touch is to a Vulcan, and you know that you’ll never be able to fully express how grateful you are for Spock’s willingness to be so close with you, so personal. Even when you do try, he just informs you that he’s doing all that he can for your health because he cares for you and wants nothing more than for you to remain well and happy. He's supportive, too. You struggle sometimes to force yourself to take your medications, to go and check in with Dr. McCoy, but he’s always there to encourage you, though sometimes it’s more matter-of-factly than it is warmly. You don’t hold it against him – you know sometimes you’re a little unreasonable – but the tears sometimes come. When they do, he apologizes, and he’s as human as you’ve ever seen him in those moments. You continue your meditation lessons, and eventually you become more familiar with the process. Spock is pleased with your progress and he tells you as much as he continues to walk you through the visualization daily until you’re happy to manage it on your own. Weeks pass and you’re getting better at managing your condition. Your headaches are much fewer and further between, and when they do come they’re an afterthought compared to the pain you’d been experiencing before. You’re still warming up to the whole routine, but for all of the anxiety the pain has brought you, it’s also brought you and Spock closer together. The two of you are talking one night as he’s giving you yet another back rub, his hands gliding easily over your muscles, supple beneath his touch, aided by the fragrant oil he’s applied to your skin. “Your progress has been admirable, to say the least,” Spock quips as his thumbs find twin trigger points in either of your traps, making you wince. “I’m proud of you, ashayam.” You blush a little, opening the eye that’s upturned where your head is lying sideways on your crossed arms, looking up at Spock. “Thank you,” you murmur. “I’m kind of proud of me, too.” Spock tips his head in silent support of you and you close your eyes once more, smiling softly. Though his massage is firm and none too gentle over the particularly tight spots, you find yourself nearly drifting off nevertheless. You’re on the precipice into slumber when Spock’s voice cuts through the haze. “This may not be the right time for me to confess something so salient,” he begins lightly. “But if my understanding of human feelings and circumstance serves, I believe there is seldom an ideal time for such an expression. I ashaya du.” You don’t speak a lick of Vulcan, or any language other than Federation standard, for that matter, but the meaning is clear. You tense up beneath Spock’s touch and he notices immediately. “My apologies, Y/N,” he says plainly. “It was my belief that you felt the same way.” You shift around, scrambling up off of your belly and onto your knees on the bed, facing him. You look at him for several long and pregnant moments, your eyes searching his face, looking for some, any sign of true sincerity. You find it in the thinly-veiled hurt and confusion in his eyes and your heart leaps up into your throat as you throw you arms around him, clinging to him, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you, too, Spock,” you say shakily, relief plain as day in your tone. “I mean, I’d hoped that the way you’ve been here for me meant love, but hearing you say it means so much to me. Thank you for the final proof.” You feel him move to rest his cheek atop your head in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture and you sigh happily as you stay locked in his embrace. You find your feelings on your headaches sorting themselves out in your mind, and you realize with a soft chuckle that you can’t regret any of what’s happened. Your pain has brought Spock so close that you’d do it all over in a heartbeat, though with him at your side now you know you’ll never have to worry about it again.
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